


Ranger Med-Kit

by sawbones



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild Gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-15
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-10-10 10:54:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17424533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sawbones/pseuds/sawbones
Summary: “Does it get any easier?” David asked, sickened by the tremor in his voice.“No,” Jake said, his needle slowing for just a second, “But you get used to it.”





	Ranger Med-Kit

David didn’t want to seem like he was actively seeking out Jake, but it was pretty hard to casually stumble across him when he kept himself so deliberately apart from the others, and there came a point when he fancied it would be easier to just cut to the chase. Figured Jake would probably appreciate the direct approach more anyway.

“Well then,” David began. He dug his shoulder into the tree he was leaning against, arms crossed resolutely over his chest, “You and me, Park. How about it.”

“Hm?”

Jake didn’t so much as glance up from the stack of grubby med-kits he was working through, methodically repacking them. It meant the group would have less overall, but no-one would be in danger of grabbing a half-empty box that’d be borderline useless. He always did like to keep his hands busy; David hoped he’d take the opportunity. 

“What it is, right - I’m looking for a bit of  _ something _ . Reckon you might be the man for it,” David said. He hoped he sounded more casual than he felt, all tight about the neck like he’d have to choke the words out. He couldn’t pull himself out of it, couldn’t force himself to untense. Jake never looked like that. He looked like he was born in the mud and the shit, like he was made for it. “Nout to do round here anyway. Call it team-building, if you want: you could use some of that more than most.”

Jake frowned at the wad of bandages he was winding into a neat-ish roll, and David really wished he’d put it down and just fucking look at him already, “Are you propositioning me?”

“You’re not thick, Park; I don’t need to spell it out,” David said. He pushed himself off the tree, ‘cause either he’d say yes or he wouldn’t, and he wouldn’t be standing around one way or another.

“Have you asked anyone else?” Jake said, still as quietly uninterested as ever. He finally lifted his eyes, his gaze licking over David from top to toe, leaving him feeling vaguely inadequate - not a sensation he was familiar with, but he couldn’t help it when Jake acted like he might as well have been talking to a plank of wood, ”Dwight, perhaps?”

David sucked his teeth and looked away. He knew a ‘no’ when he heard one, indirect or not, and he didn’t feel like getting fucked around. He shrugged the suggestion away with a wave of his hand, already turning to leave before he really put his foot in it.

“Maybe I will,” he said, and he wouldn’t, because Dwight wasn’t-- well, he didn’t rightly know  _ what, _ but he wasn’t Jake. He didn’t know why that mattered, since one warm body was as good as the next when you’re getting your throat cut in the morning, but at the end of the day it did. He wasn’t going to beg for it though. “Give your head a wobble, let me know if you change your mind.”

Jake hummed around what might have been a small smile if David didn’t know better, his attention already back on the med-kits. 

 

\--

 

The campfire had died down to barely more than glowing embers, but David knew it would never go out. His hands were numb enough that he couldn’t feel the meagre heat coming off it; the fresh blood on his fingers caught the low light and glistened wetly as he examined them, head fuzzy from exhaustion and blood loss. He pressed them against the wound on his stomach again, trying to pinch the torn skin together; not fatal, not even bleeding that badly anymore, but  _ fuck  _ did it hurt since the adrenaline started wearing off. 

He still had a med-kit with him, one that Jake had repacked into something half-way decent; he hadn’t taken it in, but he’d brought it out. He didn’t know exactly who the bloody handprint on the side had belonged to, but he supposed it didn’t really matter anymore - they wouldn’t need it now, not tonight. Maybe not at all. He popped the cheap plastic latches and opened it up, dug through the contents until he found some antiseptic and a needle and thread. 

David stuffed the hem of his t-shirt into his mouth and splashed some of the antiseptic over the slit that bisected his stomach, grateful to have the grimy cotton smother his grunts of pain even if there was no-one around to hear. It probably didn’t do much, considering everything in hell seemed to be covered in a thin coat of filth no-matter how hard you tried to clean it. With clenched teeth, he wiped away the worst of the blood with a wad of fresh gauze and tossed it in the fire before he picked up the needle and thread. 

It wasn’t the first time David had stitched himself up, probably wouldn’t be the last either, but back then it had been split knuckles, cut brows, or at the very worst, a gash on his arm from a penknife barely any bigger than a house key. His hands were shaking so much he could barely keep a hold of the curved needle, nevermind thread it. He forced himself to focus, ignoring the pain, ignoring the throbbing pressure behind his eyes - but it was useless. He dropped the needle back into the kit and then kicked the whole thing away from him with a grunt of frustration.

“Fuck,” David said to the grey star-studded sky as he let his head fall back against the log he was propped up on. It was the same shit, again and again. He was so tired of feeling powerless, “ _ Fuck! _ ” 

“You look like you need a hand.”

David jerked upright again at the voice, and immediately regretted it, has hands clamping to his stomach. Through the heat-haze of the fire, he could see Jake perched on a treestump, watching him with dark, glassy eyes. He hadn’t been there moments before and for a brief second he thought maybe he was seeing things, another trick of the fog, but then Jake cocked his head to the side like he was asking a question. David must have been staring.

“Did you get--”  _ out?,  _ David tried to ask, but Jake was already shaking his head before he could finish the sentence. In all honesty, he could have guessed that just by looking at him. Too whole, too clean - and most telling, that expression on his face, like he’d been somewhere far away and not all of him had came back yet, “And the others?”

“Still there,” Jake said. He got to his feet, shrugged off his jacket and scarf, and side-stepped around the fire to stand over David’s half-prone body, “Might be a while.”

The grim grey halls of Lerys, filled with static and screams. Electricity crawling along the labyrinth of walls like fingers. David suppressed a shiver; he guessed they were the lucky ones to get out before the Doctor got his blood up proper, even if neither of them felt very fucking lucky. Jake made a vague grabbing gesture at him, and it took him a moment to realise he was asking to see his wound. He rucked up his shirt again, and Jake nudged the med-kit back towards David with his foot, and then without any ceremony, sat down so that he was straddling his shins. 

“This okay?” he asked, picking through the kit for the right supplies. Did he mean his position or the offer of assistance? David could do little more than stare at him; Jake might have been withdrawn but he wasn’t a cold man, it wasn’t unusual for him to help others but it was rare that he would  _ ask _ first. He looked so calm, on the surface at least, and maybe he was in shock or maybe he was simply a master of his own will, but David wished he could borrow some of that composure, just as his own was starting to splinter. He nodded stiffly, and Jake poured what was left of the antiseptic on some cotton wool pads, and took cleaning the area around the cut carefully. 

When he moved on to the wound itself, he wasn’t much more gentle, but David could see him glancing up from time to time to gauge his reaction. He hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he was hurting, even as sweat began to bead on his brow and his jaw ached from being clenched so hard; it had to be thorough, to get out whatever filth was caught in it. The only relief came when Jake dabbed something cool and slick along the cut that wicked away a little of the burning sensation, but only for a few seconds. He exhaled shakily as the needle and thread were pulled out next, steeling himself as best as he could.

Jake’s hands were steady as he threaded the needle with no more trouble than if he was about to darn his socks. David let his eyes close, if only for a moment. It was all so fucking unnecessary, that was the real kicker: if his wound festered, if he bled out, he would simply fade away and wake-up again, tired but whole by a warm fire. If he was pulled back into the game, he’d arrive in a familiar hell without so much as a scratch on him, like it had never happened at all, like it was just a bad dream until it began all over again. None of it mattered, but they still bandaged themselves up, and each other, and sat side-by-side around the fire feeling better for it.

He bit back a curse when the needle pierced his skin. Jake held the wound shut with one hand as he carefully stitched it together. He had to move further up David’s legs so he could get a better look at what he was doing, since the fire and the moonlight both offered such meagre illumination, close enough that his hair nearly tickled his chin. He could feel his breath on his chest, even and regular, and David didn’t know what to do with his hands or the rest of him. He let them come to rest on his biceps, like he could do anything to control the movements. Jake didn’t shrug him off.

“Does it get any easier?” David asked, sickened by the tremor in his voice. 

“No,” Jake said, his needle slowing for just a second, “But you get used to it.”

“What the  _ fuck _ does that m-- _ argh, _ ” David began, almost laughing before the pain strangled him again. He tried not to squirm so he wouldn’t make a mess of his stitches, but he had to breath through his teeth. It shouldn’t still hurt as much as it did, normally it would have blurred into one mass of angry, throbbing heat but every touch, every breath, every movement was like the first cut again. It had to be another cruel trick of the fog.

Jake put his hand on David’s chest to still him, his fingers pushing under the hem of his bunched shirt to brush his collarbone. The shiver that ran through David didn’t go unnoticed by either of them, but they ignored it. Jake was nearly done, and David just wanted it to be over already. He couldn’t bare to look until Jake was pulling the last few stitches tight, the red, abused flesh being carefully but firmly pulled back together. The sutures were fairly neat - even as a puckered, ragged line - and secure enough that David was half-sure they wouldn’t split if he coughed too hard. 

Jake dabbed on a little more of the salve before he covered the whole thing with a flimsy stick-on dressing. He smoothed the edge of it with his thumbs to make sure it stuck, and then kept going beyond its stark white borders, dragging his hands up David’s sides. He glanced up again, just as he had to check he wasn’t in too much pain earlier, but this time he held his gaze. 

“Better?”

David swallowed thickly, worked to unclench his jaw enough to speak. His voice was as rough as if he’d just let himself scream anyway, “Yeah. Yeah, loads better. Thanks.”

Jake gave a single nod as he began to back the med-kit away, though he didn’t close it or put it back with the others. In fact, he didn’t so much as get up from where he was still straddling David’s thighs, nor did he right his shirt. He turned his attention back to his stomach, still tracing his fingertips over it like his touch could heal. David’s hands tightened on his arms.

“Is it really so bad?” Jake asked as he looked down at the fingers curled around one of his biceps, and Christ, David still didn’t know what he meant. The lad rarely spoke and when he did, it was a coin toss whether you’d get a straight answer from him or not. He didn’t know if it was too much time in the fog or too much time in the woods.

“No,” David said, out of habit more than anything else; Jake pressed harder on his stitches, just enough to make him squirm again, “Sh-shit, alright,  _ yes _ . Yes, it’s that bad.”

Jake let up the pressure, and the relief was instant. He had an implacable look on his face that David felt should have made him worried, “I think I forget what it was like, sometimes. What it was like in the beginning. What it was like...before.”

His fingers worked their way up David’s broad, shaking chest. He touched his nipples, touched his neck. He took his face between his hands and brushed his thumbs across his cheeks, where tears would have cut dirty tracks if he’d let them. There was something blistering about it that made David want to spit  _ fuck off  _ at him, push him away.

“Listen, Park,” he said instead, as level as he could, “About what I said before, you don’t have to do--”

“I know I don’t. It’s one of the few things here that I don’t _ have to do _ ,” Jake said. He smiled - it was thin and reedy, but it was still a smile, “There’s freedom in that.”

David was ready for it when he leant in, slotted their mouths together. He’d been ready for it for a while if he was being honest with himself, which he rarely was; he’d never been much for kissing in his other life, and he figured Jake would have been in the same boat, but he kissed him with such deliberateness, such certainty that he felt helpless in a way he couldn’t name. He groaned against Jake’s lips as he licked his way into his mouth, teeth catching on soft and willing skin. It was unhurried but hungry, and over too soon as Jake pulled back by inches to pull open David’s trousers. 

He undid the button but left the fly, worked them down over his hips - which David lifted to help - and left them bunched somewhere around his knees. He drew his cock into his palm, wood-calloused and warm, and began to stroke him with a quiet ernesty. David’s breath hitched, stomach twisting as his exhausted body tried to parse the sudden pleasure from the endless pain. He grabbed at Jake’s sleeve, fingers catching and desperate until he met his eye. His not-smile widened by a twitch, hardly anything at all, but it was enough to twist a moan out of David. 

He wanted it in a way that wounded, that itched and scratched somewhere he couldn’t quite reach by himself, and he didn’t know if it was from being scared for so long, hurt for so long, alone for so long - or if it was just  _ Jake _ , something benevolent and knowable and dark-eyed in the fog. 

If Jake knew or cared either way, he gave no indication. His face was unreadable, his hand steady, slicker on each stroke as David leaked all over his fingers. His grip on Jake’s sleeve tightened, and he weakly pulled at him until he acquiesced and leaned in, catching him in a kiss once more. He wanted it to steal his breath away, to suffocate and numb him, but Jake always seemed just out of reach even as their lips crushed together.

“David,” Jake whispered against his mouth, calling him like he wasn’t right there. “ _ David. _ ”

David shuddered, his hips working even as the agony in his guts flared up with every aborted thrust. When he tried to lean into Jake again, he pulled away.

“The others will be back soon,” he said, voice soft and slanted. The  _ if they’re lucky _ went unspoken; the  _ if we’re not _ too, “You can let go.”

“Park--"

“Let  _ go _ , David.”

A few more strokes and he was grabbing at Jake’s wrist to stop him, spilling over their joined hands, his stomach, soiling the edges of his already-grubby dressing. It hurt like it had been pulled from somewhere too deep inside, leaving him aching and unpleasantly empty as his high came down to meet him in the dirt. Jake stayed with him though, curled over him with his lips pressed to the hinge of his jaw, the faintest hint of teeth against skin in a smile or a snarl. 

David wanted him to bite. He wanted new pain, fresh pain, a good hurt instead.

There was a crackle in the air like static, and a choking, shuddering moan from the treeline told them they weren’t alone any more. Jake didn’t seem in any rush to move away, to pull David’s shirt down and his jeans up to hide what they’d done. He took his time, each touch as deliberate and grounding as the last. He wiped their hands half-way clean with a scrap of bloodied gauze before he tossed it in the campfire and stood up, snapping back to his familiar cold starry distance just in time for Claudette to stagger into the light, her face grey, her eyes glazed. David missed him instantly.

“It’s not so bad, is it?” Jake said, more to himself than to anyone else as he picked up the med-kit. “It’s not so bad.”


End file.
